


i can't escape this now, unless you show me how

by iliveinafantasy



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondlock, F/M, Genderswapped!Q, Movie Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinafantasy/pseuds/iliveinafantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has had enough. She's had enough of Bond breaking all her weapons, and sneaking up on her. Yet when she remembers that he's been temporalily made homeless after the events of Skyfall, before she can stop herself she - the youngest and most brilliant Quartermaster MI6 has had - offers Bond a room in her flat, for a couple of nights, but when a couple of nights become a few weeks, and she can't escape opening up to Bond, will she find the same fate as all the other Bond Girls, or will she be different?</p>
<p>-- spoilers for Skyfall, Bondlock, Female!Q. I suck at doing these summary things --</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. when the days are cold

Q was used to being underestimated. No one thought that a young girl could be that brilliant with computers. Well she was the best. She'd been hired by MI6 for Christ sake. She pushed her NHS issue spectacles up the bridge of her nose. She was leant over her designs. Carefully planning her next weapon. 

Most things built in Q Branch were from her designs. She might have been the youngest Quartermaster, but she was one of the most innovative and productive ones they'd ever had. 

She recalled her last conversation with the infamous, Bond. James Bond, and felt her heart rate quicken. He should be back soon. Soon with her Q branch issued weapons. Hopefully the weapons - and he, her mind added rather unhelpfully - would be in one piece.

Though she doubted it. Last time she issued him a Walther PPK he'd fed it to an overgrown lizard. She pursed her lips, a frown settling on her face. The pencil in her hand meeting her smooth pink lips, tapping twice before hoving her over the page again. "Good day Q" a smooth voice called, Q couldn't say she was surprised. She knew where everyone in the building was. She whirled around, messy black curls flicking her face as she stilled, coming face to face with James Bond.

"Bond, the equipment please" she asked, her hand extended out. 

She wished it wasn't so late. Then she wouldn't be alone in Q Branch with James Bond. She gulped but quickly composed herself. His hand lingered as he handed back the burnt weapons. She stared at the burnt gun in her hand. Q wished she could say she was surprised, but the fact was... she wasn't. She wanted him to bring her back one weapon that didn't end up burnt to a crisp or destroyed under a heavy boot.... or eaten by an overgrown lizard. Oh, She still hadn't forgiven him for that one. She doubted she ever would. Her weapons and designs – they were her babies, her pride and joy, she'd spent hours overseeing each design was made perfectly, and in one bloody mission, James Bond managed to ruin each one. 

Q gave an angry sigh. "Is it not possible for you to bring anything back in one piece?" She asked exasperated at the growing pile of trashed weapons.

Bond said nothing and shoved his hand into the pocket of his surprisingly clean trousers. He pulled out the radio transmitter and forced it into her hand. To her shock it was completely undamaged. She had to inspect it again. Not a scratch, Q would have been impressed was she not so utterly frustrated at the state of the other equiptment he'd just hadn't back.

"Well done Bond. One piece of equipment I gave you that you have brought back in one piece. That's a new record" 

Bond raised an eyebrow at her words. "I aim to please" his voice was lower than normal and softer.

It sent shivers up her spine. He stepped closer. Q had to pull herself together. Bond was absolutely no good. He was a player and a flirt, but he was a great agent. Probably the best MI6 had ever had, and undoubtedly the best at avoiding death. She sighed. 

The terrible thing was she didn't want to stop him. She wanted him to come closer, and draw her into his arms. She breathed in a shaky breath, all too aware of how he effected her.

“Bond. Personal space. Please” she warned, and placed her palm against his muscular shoulder. 

The left one. Not the right, the one that Eve had shot. She couldn't help but feel bitter and angry at her female co-worker. Her arm was shaking and she hated the way her pulse sped up at the feel of his muscles. She bit her lip, and lowered her arm. She despised how she reacted to him. She felt so weak. 

Q turned away from him. She heard the fading footsteps as he realised not to push Q, and let out a sigh as soon as he was out of sight. She slumped against the desk. Letting the desk support her shaking limbs. Q closed her eyes, dark eyelashes brushing the thick lenses of her spectacles. Composing herself, she took a deep breath in. 

"Get back to work Q."

She picked the pencil up and began to work on the blueprints in front of her. She worked quietly. It helped that she was alone. Or so she thought. Bond had crept into the back of the room, and was watching her through curious blue eyes. He watched the gentle curve of her back as she hunched over the desk. The long lines of her legs, which were being shown off to their full in a tight pencil skirt. Q eventually slowed down in her work, and began to become aware of the eyes lingering on her back. She didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

"Bond" she growled. “Go away”

No one else could sit there so still. He didn't answer, so she whirled around, a deep frown settling on her face. 

"For god sake. Bond. Don't you have a home to go to?" she asked, snapping at him. 

Bond shook his head, and instantly Q felt a little bad. Her mouth made a small 'O' shape. Of course he didn't have a home. It had been blown up in efforts to kill Silva, and even before that... sold. They'd sold his apartment as well. She couldn't stop the rising guilt. She should have remembered that. 

"No, Q, I don't" he answered her. 

Q floundered for a moment, and before she even realised she had called across the room. "Stay with me then". She tried not to think about how hopeful her voice was, and how god-damn eager she sounded, and hoping to god that he hadn't caught on. "For a while... I mean" she amended. 

A small smirk appeared on Bond's lips and she instantly regretted her words. "I'll go and get my stuff then. Meet you at home" he chuckled. Q wanted to slap herself. What had she done? She'd invited the notorious 007 into her home. She was not going to come out of this okay. What would Mallor - M think. She still couldn't get used to calling Mallory, M. It just felt wrong. She wondered what Bond felt about it. 

She'd flown out to get Bond after the events at Skyfall – Mallory had ordered she go. Despite her fear of flying when they had insisted she was flown over by helicopter. She knew that time had been of the essence and that flying had been the undoubtedly quickest way, but still she had argued that they could drive. She'd been the one to prise him away from M's cold, dead body and she had been the one to comfort him, not that either of them mentioned it again. It was the most broken she'd ever seen Bond, and it kind of scared her - she thought that seeing Bond was like that might be almost like flying. Not that she ever let that on. She pushed all thoughts of a broken Bond from her mind. 

Q had been so involved in her thoughts that she didn't even realise he'd already left. She supposed she ought to leave now. Get back to her little flat before he did. So she could tidy a little, and set up the guest room. There was no way in hell she would let him stay in her room with her. Q walked the short distance to the tube. Paying for her ticket, she waited in the uncomfortable seats. Though she wasn't sure if they felt more uncomfortable because she was so nervous. She bit on her relatively long nails. It was a habit she thought she had kicked. In fact she had kicked it. Till today. That was how nervous he made her. 

Getting on the tube, she tried not to flinch each time someone bumped up beside her, hitting her body. At one point someone thought that they could get away with groping her. She swivelled around as quickly as she could manage. She didn't often wear heels. She didn't like the idea that it was hard to run away. She might not look strong or fast. But Q had been quite the track runner in high school. It was partially why MI6 actually hired her. They wanted someone who could get away. “Excuse me” she exclaimed, grabbing the offending wrist. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she asked, pushing him away. She was getting quite an audience, so, she scurried off to the next carriage. 

Finally the train arrived in the next station and she clambered out, ignoring the crowds of people around her. She scanned her ticket in the machine, letting it swallow it up so she could get out. Once she hit the cool winter winds, she pulled the parka zips together, and zipped it up. She was tempted to throw the hood up, to stop her hair getting messy, but eventually decided on just throwing her already messy curls into a quick bun. She adjusted her spectacles, and made to walk home. 

She'd never been so nervous to open her front door. She was afraid that Bond would have beaten her. He probably would. He was an special agent, but she hadn't seen a car parked out front. Not one that screamed 'Bond' anyway. She sniffed and held out one of her delicate hands, that was an unnatural pink colour from the cold. She pushed the key into the lock, and gingerly twisted the door-nob. She saw no sign of Bond in the living room, and instantly relaxed. She'd gotten back before him. She hurried into the kitchen and set the kettle to boil. Even at home she had become to think of herself as Q. Setting a mug on the side, she reached for a teabag and dropped it into the mug. She walked into the living room and cleared away all the technological gizmo's. She was just setting an laundry basket on the side when one hard knock on the door sounded, she whirled around intent on walking to the door, when the door swung open. 

“Good Day Ms. Q” he chuckled, calling her by her codename. She found it quite ironic, he only ever called her by her code name and she only ever called him Bond. As she had left the basket teetering on the edge, it tipped off, spilling all her dirty clothes and what was worse, her lingerie onto the floor. Bond knelt down and picked up one of her few lace bras. Typically he'd go for that one. “I certainly didn't expect to see that here” he smirked. Q was pretty amazing at reading people. She could tell instantly that his pupils had dilated at the sight of her lacy bra. Probably wondering what it would look like on her. Not that he'd ever see that. She briefly wondered whether his pulse has elevated as well. Her brother was good at reading peoples reactions, and had taught her to do it when they were younger. It had taken a while, but now she knew the signs. 

“Put it down Bond.” she chided, and finished picking up the rest. He pulled his hand back, intent on shoving the bra into his pocket, but Q managed to reach forwards and grab it in time, she pushed it into the basket with the rest of her clothing. As she walked into the little laundry room she had, she called back to Bond, “Stop imagining me naked” with a soft chuckle. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. 

Who was she kidding, the moment she said that, Bond's masculine hands gripped at her hips, not in a painful way, but hard enough to stop her leaving. 

“Never” he whispered in to her ear. The pressure on her hips was gone, and Q took a tentative step forwards. This was so going to be torture. She closed the door behind her, and locked it. Of course, she made sure that Bond was on the other side of the door before locking it. She slumped against the said door before chucking the laundry into the machine. She set the machine on a 30 degree wash. Gotta be good to the environment and all that. She leant over the humming machine, filling her head with useful codes to keep her mind off of just how good Bond's hands felt on her hips. She was not a teenage girl. Despite Bond's comments of her spots that day they met. She'd tried in vain to cover those dreaded spots. She sighed. 

“Q. Come out. I'm bored” she heard Bond call over the hum of the washing machine. Q ignored him. “Q stop being so petulant” he teased. “You are being childish” he added in bid to rise her anger. Make her come out. She ignored his chants and gripped at the side of the machine, her body gently shaking as the machine whirled around and around. 

The doorknob turned slowly, and swung open. Q gaped. Hadn't she locked that? She frowned as she saw the lock picking tools in his hand. “Bond. Try not to destroy my flat please” she told him with a slightly frustrated tone mingling in her voice. 

“Don't lock me out then.” was his simple reply. 

Q rolled her eyes a little amused, and turned back to the machine, which had decided to spit bubbles. “Oh shit” she screeched. “Why today?” she asked, not realising she had said it aloud. As she tried to stop the bubbles with her hands, the bubbles flowed even quicker and soon enough, Q was on her backside covered in foam in front of an amused Bond. 

Bond rolled his sleeves up and Q watched as he walked forwards and confidently pulled the plug on the machine. Probably ruining it, but Q did need a new one, though she was sure she could have wired it to work perfectly well herself. It took Q a moment to realise that his gaze was locked onto her now see through shirt. Her hands self consciously covered her chest. “I'm going to go and change. Leave my washing alone”

Q pushed past him, and once she was in her room, threw her wet work clothes off. She shrugged her arms out of her bra straps. Now very aware that she was practically naked with James Bond in her apartment. She quickly pulled a clean, dry bra on, and a overly large shirt over her head. The shirt was an ex boyfriends of hers, and covered her slim thighs, enough to be acceptable to wear anyway. She tugged a pair of leggings on to be safe and exited her room, slipping her feet into the fluffy slippers by her door as she did. 

“You surprise me Q” Bond spoke his voice rather sarcastic. 

Q ignored him, and asked “Want a cup of tea?” she asked him. 

“No thanks” 

“Oh. Okay”

“I'd prefer coffee” he explained. Q nodded, she should have guessed. 

“You and your love of sludge” she mumbled, causing a rough laugh from Bond. 

Q went about making her cup of tea. She stirred a teaspoon around the empty cup, and lifted a second mug, and an full bag of coffee from her cupboard. She never drank coffee, but she often had a spare bag hanging around the flat – it helped with the rare hangovers after one of the equally rare nights of drinking. She tipped a couple of spoonfuls into the cup, and waited for the click of the kettle. 

Pouring the boiling water onto her teabag and his coffee grains, she sighed softly. The harsh smell of coffee hit her nose and she had to hold her breath. She never understood why but she had never enjoyed the smell of coffee, 'though you like it on Bond', some part of her thought. Q manoeuvred around her kitchen like a lithe cat, graceful and quiet. She could be just as stealthy as Bond could, and perhaps even more. Bond was more like a Lion, sneaking up and destroying quickly, Q was perhaps like a Tiger, or maybe a panther. 

She finished her tea – milk, no sugar – and then paused in carrying the two drinks. “Bond, do you have any sugar or milk in your coffee?” she asked.

“Milk, Two sugars” he called to her. She sighed, and turned around to put the amount of sugar he required in, and add a dash of milk. Bond could be a frustrating bastard. 

She handed the drink to him, and watched as he sniffed at it. Q laughed. Always the cautious spy. “I didn't poison it. I was tempted too” she laughed. “Besides, you'd probably just come right on back to life” she sighed referring to his many attempts at death. Stupid, brave man. She didn't know what came over him with every death defying leap. He should have been dead by now. He was lucky, yes. But very, very stupid. 

She sipped at her boiling hot tea, forcefully swallowing the scolding liquid. As she begun to cough, she didn't catch the sudden movement from the couch. A hand gently began to rub at her back, fingers encroaching onto the back of her throat massaging the muscles there. 

She bit her lip, refusing to make a sound, however she couldn't stop herself from relaxing back into the touch. “Q” he whispered into her ear softly. His fingers moved from her neck, to softly massage her back, till she curled her spine back up, and stiffened. 

“Bond” she whispered. “Please stop” her voice was soft, and completely unsure. She wanted this, but then she didn't. Bond slowly lifted both hands from her body, and went back to the couch, and then like that he was engaged by what ever was on TV. Q turned around, of course it would be the BBC news. Bond just had to know what was going on. Q supposed she was the same, except she would just hack into their systems and find out for herself before anyone else. She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. She was glad she didn't have to have her her hair clipped short. She loved her hair just as it was – at least when it wasn't frizzy. Besides she was never out in the field, she didn't need to keep hers short like Eve did. 

“By the way, you make a crap cup of coffee” Bond's dulcet voice called out, and Q raised an eyebrow. He drank on anyway. Q mused that he could have just been joking.

Q sat down beside Bond, and held the mug in her hands close to her body. She turned to watch Bond, she watched as he occasionally blinked and took a long sip of his drink. She watched the muscles in his throat work to swallow the coffee, and how when he moved his arms, the muscles all seemed to flow under his skin. She hadn't even realised before now that he had taken off his jacket and loosened the tie around his neck. She often admired the way he always dressed smartly, Q tended to look like she'd walked out of a – admittedly rather expensive – charity shop. 

“Q, do you often watch this... crap?” he asked, waving in the general direction of the TV which had switched itself over to EastEnders. Q shook her head. She didn't watch soap dramas. “How about we watch a film?” he asked, and before she could answer he was already out of his seat, and putting a DVD into one of the games system she had. 

“What did you put on Bond?” she asked, and he grinned. 

“Tinker Tailor Solider Spy” he told her, and Q sighed. She didn't particularly enjoy that film, but of course Bond would pick out the only spy film she had in her collection. 

As soon as it started, Bond started to critique the spies, and Q found herself enjoying the film much more with Bond's smooth and silky dulcet tones endlessly in the background. Occasionally, Q shushed him, but it was only teasing. She eventually droned out what he was actually saying, and just listened to the tones of his voice, how they rose when he was impressed and fell slightly when he was... not so impressed, how he scoffed at some of the scenes and how occasionally he would just laugh. 

“Bond, do you want anything to eat?” she asked quietly, but loud enough for him to hear over the chatter of the characters on screen. Bond nodded at her, then turned his face from the film. 

“Something simple” he told her, so Q ran off to make them both a couple of cheese sandwiches. She picked up a second plate, and balanced it on her arm as she walked back to Bond. 

“Here” she said, handing the plate to Bond and putting some of her quickly made sandwiches on it. She munched on the sandwich, and turned her attention to the film. "What did I miss?" she asked, trying to sound casual, ignoring how homely this all was, sitting on a couch, eating sandwiches, watching a movie with James Freaking Bond.

"Not much to be honest, nothing major at least" he shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich munching loudly. “Thanks Valentina” he said carelessly. Q blinked, and coughed violently on the sandwich she was eating. Her eyes widened and she gaped at him. A million questions burned through her brain, but mostly they were a varient of just one question. Who on earth did he learn her name?! She had asked for that information to be available to a few select members of MI6, including herself and M. Bond was not one of those she had granted the authority to know her name. It was safer for her, if nobody knew who she was, if she was just a letter to them.


	2. and the cards all fold

“What did you say?” she asked, as she rubbed the hollow of her throat.

“I said thank you, Valentina 'Holmes'” he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She could see the corner of his lips rise into a smirk. Smug bastard. She sighed.

“You know my name.” Her mind was stuck on that fact, repeating over and over in her head like a scratched record. 

“You know mine” was his reply, chuckling. God it infuriated her, how easily he could laugh something off.

“You know my name” she growled. For some reason, god knows why - maybe someone had played it in the past week, the lyrics to that Ting Ting song begun to echo around her head, _with nothing to consider they forget my name, ame, ame_

“Yes, Valentina. I do” he said casually as if it weren't such a big deal. "Do you prefer Valentina, or Val?" He asked, and Q blinked, a frown settling on her face before she shook her head, effectively shaking off the question.

“It's Q - No one knows my name.” Pretty much a lie, what she should have said was no one other than her family and M knew her name.

“Well I happen to know it.”

“And how? How on earth did you find out?” she asked him, sharply. Bond chuckled, and licked his delightful lips.

“Your file. You aren't the only one with access to those files” he told her, a playful look glinting in his eyes.

“What did you do? Sleep with someone to gain access... just for my name?” she asked him, rolling her eyes as she scoffed. She was going to have to talk to M about this. It wasn't on. She'd specifically asked that no one be allowed access to her files without her and M's permission. She'd been very careful to explain to M just who she wanted kept out of her file. Bond being close to the top of that list. She didn't need him knowing all of her secrets, god knew how many he'd know before.

“Maybe” he chuckled, then gave her a slightly sheepish glance, an expression that seemed incredibly foreign on Bond’s usually cocky face.

“Valentina Holmes” she sighed after a long moment of silence. “I haven't been called that in a while” she closed her eyes and leant back onto the back of the couch, when she instead of soft cushions, she hit a firm muscular arm, she started to sit up, to move his arm out of the way, but he tightened his grip on her arm, holding her down.

“It’s a pretty name, for a pretty lady” he told her, quite serious. A blush formed on her cheeks, and he used his other hand to cup her cheek, he thumbed the smooth skin with his calloused fingers. “People forget about you don't they, they look past you, but that's your advantage, you use that to zoom past the unaware” he smiled amused, and then shot up. “Work tomorrow. Get some rest” He ordered Q.

Q blinked and mindlessly walked to her room, and shut the door behind her. Still processing what had just happened.

She flung herself onto her bed, and groaned. She was never going to live this down. At the thought that he knew her name, she sat up. Oh crap. Her eldest brother would be all over that – no doubt he had hidden cameras installed somewhere in her flat, he'd probably asked some of his minions to come around when she was at work.

Bond had better be ready for what he'd started. She heard her phone ring and she winced. Picking it up, she didn't even need to look at the name to know who it was. Only he liked to call. “Mycroft” she said bluntly, she loved her brothers, dearly, but they riled her up even more than Bond did, and that was saying something.

“Valentina” replied a clipped posh voice on the other end of the phone. “I was just checking through your file, and saw that the last person to request access to it – and be granted access - was one 007 James Bond. Any reason why?” he asked, his voice full of implications.

“I do not know nor do I try to understand why he requested access Myc, I have never understood the logic that Bond runs on. If I did, I would finally know why he insists on wrecking the weapons I issue him” Q told Mycroft. That was still a sore spot for Q, all her beautiful designs being returned as barely recognisable piles of scrap. One of these days, she was going to insist that someone else take the time to design Bonds weapons, because he obviously didn't care for what she designed for him.

“Expect me tomorrow at 10am Valentina – Don't worry about work. I called the both of you in sick, M was more than accommodating” Mycroft said sternly, _Of course M was accommodating, you basically run the government you twat,_ Q thought, then tuned into the rest of Mycroft's sentence, “and don't even think about trying to make Bond leave. I have surveillance on your flat and the moment he leaves, my team will have him brought back” A groan slipped out of Q before she could stop it.

Crap. Her idea had indeed been to tell Bond to leave. Maybe she could get Bond to slip out somehow. He was a 00 agent after all. Surely he'd be able to evade Mycroft. As if sensing her trail of thought, Mycroft added, "Seriously, Val. I will have him escorted back, or I will hold the both of you in the tower of London, I am sure I could call in a favour or two" Q grumbled nonsense down the phone, and she heard Mycroft sigh again. 

“Don't you have better things to do than watch the MI6 Quartermaster and the _best_ double-Oh agent there is?” she asked him. Mycroft seemed to consider this. “Mycroft...” she prompted.

“No, not at the moment. Sherlock is being pretty... sane right now, for a man who's supposedly dead” Q could practically see him shrugging, and frowning down the phone, Myc kind of had this look whenever he spoke about Sherlock, it was a sort of mix between pride, admiration, love and well constipation. Mycroft might have been a man who prided on not letting sentimentality get the best of him, his family were still his first priority. At times, Q was thankful for that.

“Remind me... why does Sherlock have to stay dead? Does John know yet?” she breathed out, softly. She remembered her own emotions when she had found out Sherlock had gone and  _killed_ himself. She'd broken down, she might not have been one for overly emotional displays, but she had always been close to Sherlock, and those moments when she really believed he was gone, was torturous. She had just been glad she hadn't been at work. Then an hour after she found out... Mycroft had called and put the bastard himself on the phone. She still owed him a punch. Or – more likely - a virus on his laptop of some kind, that was more her style. She'd leave it to John to do the punching. She hadn't met John yet, but what Sherlock told her, made him sound incredible, and made for her dear brother, and also the kind of person who might punch first, ask questions later. After all, he did shoot a cab driver for Sherlock. She hadn't wanted to meet him yet either, she wasn't sure she would be able to look the man in the eye and lie like she would have had to.

Mycroft sighed down the phone. “Because of Moriarty, Val, you know that. John... John, he can't know.”

“But he needs to know” Q argued. Q felt bad for John. She couldn't imagine having to live with the fact that Sherlock was dead. She could almost hear Mycroft's brain ticking over, thinking out his next reply.

“For his safety, John Watson can’t know until Moran is dealt with” Mycroft told Q.

“That’s a load of crock and you know it. John can look out for himself. He was a damn solider” Q huffs, and her brother sighs down the phone.

“We’ll see”

Out of the three, Q worked best with machines, Mycroft with emotions (and the Government) and Sherlock with science and reading people. Sherlock was the baby genius of the family, whereas Q had always been looked over, but as the only girl, she did have two very protective older brothers, who could be down right terrifying in their own ways. Q didn’t want to think about how many different ways Sherlock could probably think of to kill and dispose of a body, it was probably something ridiculous.

There was a knock on her door, and Q hung up, not bothering to say good-bye, not really wanting to discuss with Mycroft any more.

“Q.” Bond called through the wood, using her codename again. Instantly, Q relaxed her shoulders slightly.

“Come in” she said sitting up on her bed, legs crossed.

“I'm sorry” was the first thing she heard when the door swung open.

Q blinked. “Sorry?” she asked, had she heard right?

“Yes, sorry, I over stepped a boundary, I shouldn't have looked in your file” he said, looking directly at her, and for some reason, Q started to laugh.

“It was only fair, I've read your file.” she smiled, then sobered slightly “I'm still trying to work out how you gained access to my file though”

“You're really related to Sherlock Holmes?” he asked, “the fake detective” he added but probably shouldn't have, and given by the wince on his face, he realised it had been a bad call bringing up _that_.

Q's eyebrows furrowed, as she looked away from him. “He's not a fake detective, he was a real genius. A real detective” she had argued this with so many people, that it fell from her lips automatically. People didn't believe her any more. Not since her idiot brother had practically ‘admitted’ it to John. A small sad smile settled on her lips when she remembered the recording Sherlock's last call. John hadn't believe he was a fake and that made her smile, he'd had faith in her brother when no one else had. Of course it was heartbreaking as well, hearing the conviction in John’s voice, had all but broken her heart for Sherlock. When she'd listened she could almost imagine John breaking down, just there in the street. But John still had faith in her brother, and she would do what she could to help out without John knowing.

Bond lifted his hands. “I'm sorry, that was out of line” he told her and Q blinked before spluttering out a surprised laugh. Bond apologizing once in a night was quite a miracle but twice. She shook her head. “It's fine. You don't know. You weren't to know, You don't --” she started to ramble, cutting herself off, and Bond raised a blond eyebrow. He stepped forwards and sat down on the edge of Q's bed.

“What wasn't I to know?” he asked sensing that he was indeed missing something. Q ignored his question, instead began playing with her fingers. She'd almost forgotten that she'd been speaking to a man almost as observant as both of her brothers. “Valentina” he voiced.

“Q” she snapped at him. Bond had not earned the right to call her by her real name. “007” she chided.

“Q” he spoke, Q’d worked with Bond enough to know when he was trying to seduce a woman – or man – for information and she glared at him. It was almost reminiscent of how they first met. Though there was no gallery around them now, merely Q's room. No other people or paintings to distract her, or him. She tried not to feel shameful of her room, which was now under the scrutiny of Bond's gaze. "What wasn't I to know?" He tried again, but Q ignored the question.

“Was there something you wanted?” she asked getting a little bit defensive.

“Just to say sorry” he shrugged, and stood. “I'll see you tomorrow...” with a slight upturn of his lips, he winked and added "Val". Q threw a pillow at him.

Bond chuckled. “So feisty” he laughed as he left the room, and shut the door behind himself.

Q threw herself back onto the bed. She grasped at her phone, and switched the darn thing off, she didn't need any more calls from Mycroft. She rolled over onto her side, her legs curling up, and her hands rested beneath her face. She didn't even bother slipping under the covers. Soon enough, Q was fast asleep, chest rising and falling rhythmically.

Bond frowned as he wandered around. Q hadn't told him where the spare quilts where. He might have been used to sleeping in the cold, but he did prefer to sleep under a cover whenever possible, being forced to live without home comforts made a man like him crave them, though he pretended not to, of course. He pushed the door open to Q's room and was about to alert her to his presence, when he saw her sleeping form. His eyes softened at the sight, the corners crinkling as his lips lifted up into a small smile. She looked younger than ever, but so relaxed. It was nice to see her like that, face relaxed, a sleepy smile on her lips. He looked around the room and pulled the throw that had fallen to the floor atop of her.

“Come on Bond, you're a spy. Go find those quilts” he let out a quiet chuckle, and closed the door behind him. It shut with a loud click. Bond hoped it hadn't woken her, he stayed for a moment, just listening through the door for any sign of her stirring, but her breathing was still shallow and steady.

He shook his head, and started to search her apartment again, grinning to himself when he saw the laundry room door half open, and foam drying on the floor, gently he stepped in and grabbed an item. He pushed it carefully into his pocket. His hand gripped the bra he had been so intrigued by earlier, then let go. Oh, Q...  was going to kill him. Both for this and the whole name thing. He knew he'd really overstepped the boundaries and M's rules... but really he couldn't give a damn about the boundaries, at least he hadn't at the time.

Finally, Bond found the spare blankets, not in the airing cupboard like he'd expected but tucked away under the boiler, at least the blanket was thoroughly warmed through already. He chucked it on top of the small single in the guest room, he was used to sleeping in large double beds, with room to spread out, but he'd make do. He lay over the blanket, staring up at the off white ceiling – there was a small darker circle in the corner, damp, Bond assumed and a few tiny cracks ran across the space above his bed, but otherwise, it was unmarked.

Bond sighed, as he listened out for any unusual sounds, trying to find some way to either entertain himself, or fall asleep. It wasn't Q's fault that he couldn't sleep, it was no one's fault, except maybe his jobs. Years of service in her Majesty's Secret Services had left him with a warped sleep schedule. He sometimes managed to get two hours of undisturbed sleep at the most. He was a light sleeper, any noise and he was up in a shot, often with his gun in hand, ready to look for an intruder, more likely shoot an intruder, but that was semantics. Especially when he'd been alone. He rolled over onto his front, shifting and shuffling till half of the blanket – still warm from the boiler – was covering one of his legs. He let his breathing slow as he listened to the foreign sounds of Q's apartment, every tick of the clock on the wall was heightened with the closing of his eyes.

After years of practise he'd honed his senses, often listening out for the sound of soft footsteps not a ticking clock, but there had been a few hidden bombs he'd uncovered from time to time. Now he was settled and still, he could feel an ache creeping into his bones. He was getting old. Though his body was in top condition for a man in his mid-forties. Q just reminded him of his youth, the woman was so young to be in such a high position. She had a lot of pressure on her, and she reminded him somewhat of himself, except far more techy than he ever was, the only technology he cared about really, was a trigger. He couldn't fathom how she was so protective over those guns and things that he sent back, after all they were only bits of metal and wire... right?

With that last thought, Bond drifted into dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Q is supposed to be younger than Bond, but this > http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_max3b2pyPy1qaxi9so3_500.gif has been my inspiration for female Q, because honestly who couldn't love Rachel Weisz and I think with that hairstyle and glasses she does look a lot younger than her actual age, but that's just my opinion.


End file.
